


Masks

by TallFlower



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Attempt at Humor, Loneliness, M/M, Masks, McHanzo Week, Muteness, Mystery Man McCree, Newspapers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Identity, Superheroes, Vigilantism, cyberninja hanzo, i might as well set it to mature now because boi howdy do I have plans, i'm tagging characters with speaking lines as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-11-10 12:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11127234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallFlower/pseuds/TallFlower
Summary: In an alternative universe where Overwatch is nothing more than a newspaper company, the city of London is protected by masked vigilantes. One of them is a mysterious gunman who stalks the streets in order to keep the people and omnics safe. The other, a silent cybernised-archer who takes to the rooftops with no clear motives. As tensions rise in King’s Row after a flurry of coordinated attacks, and an unexpected friendship blossoms, it’s up to them to save the city.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cade, I hope I've made you proud ;3

The robber raced up the fire escape, bursting onto the snowy rooftop in a huff. Sweat dotted his brow, his eyes wildly searching the grey skyline as he panted. With each breath, a billow of white cloud would rise into the cold night air. His fingers were practically the colour of bone with how tightly he gripped to the light blue bag in his hands. He looked back down the staircase he had just flown up seconds before.

Nothing chased up the stairs after him.

After a few beats he let out a long sigh of relief – believing himself to be safe. For now, at the least.

With a smile spreading across his face, he turned his back on the staircase and walked towards the ledge-wall. Quickly brushing away the freshly fallen snow off of the cement, he propped the bag against it and began undoing the clasp at the front. Instantly, he began combing through the contents, spilling notebooks and papers and makeup and a small toy bear by his feet.

If he had bothered to look up at the face of the building in front of him he would have noticed a mysterious archer glaring down at him.

From his perch on the windowsill, Hanzo had watched him race down the streets far below him, following the trail of footprints he made as he did. The thief didn’t stop – not even as he pushed people onto their knees and made them cry out with shock as they hit the ground. One elder in particular hit the ground with a sickening crash, having landed squarely on the wrapped box he was carrying in his hands. It was flattened entirely by his weight.

Hanzo did nothing as he saw the robber run down an alleyway and pull down the rusty fire escape, taking each step two at a time.

Hanzo zoomed in for a facial reconstruction to see if he already was on record. He read the man’s pale, daunt face. Not a single hair on his chin. Probably not any on his head either judging by the black beanie. A name flashed up after a few seconds; **D A M I O N   W R I G H T**.

He read over some of his details – he was unemployed, early thirties, lived in South London, Greenwhich. No major offences.

His eyes jumped back to the bag. It appeared to be a young girl’s, judging from the _Pax Lodge_ badges that decorated one of its straps.

 _How pathetic_ , Hanzo couldn’t help but think to himself as he began to rise off of his haunches.

While the robber was preoccupied the archer began to move, reaching up to the frame just above his head with both hands. Once he was up he reached out to the stone crest just above the window, then leaped onto the stone archway just above that. Effortlessly he pulled his body onto it, feeling his shoulder unlock the pressure that was building in it. Steam rolled down his left sleeve.

He looked upwards – from then on out it was nothing but more windows until he reached to the top.

Clumps of snow rained down to the bright street below him as he climbed from sill-to-sill. Despite how the fingers on his right hand slowly started to become numb, he continued to ascend the buildings face. From the apartments he climbed up come noises – not so much as in the daytime but all the louder for the absence of light and the quieter traffic. Shuffling of feet, clanging of pots, the murmur of voices.

He carried on seamlessly until finally he reached the top. He launched himself onto the ledge, using the cable connecting the two buildings as leverage.

He looked over his shoulder as he crawled onto his feet, now level with the other building. The robber was still digging from what he could see. A mixture of clouds and smoke from lighting chimes darkened the sky – down by the streets the city was alive, basked in the warm glow of streetlamps and fairy lights. Up in the sky was dark, only getting a fraction of the light.

_I haven’t been spotted yet. Good._

Now with a clear shot, Hanzo slid his bow from around his torso. He stood up as he drew an arrow from in-between his shoulder blades. He notched the arrow into its place. As he drew back the string, the head of the arrow unlocked itself. It quietly circled as he lined up the shot.

All of his focus was drawn onto the robber.

He finally found what he was looking for. He held the purse to his face, discarding the bag along with the other stuff, his smirk widening in victory. His fingers worked to open it to reveal a few notes within. Probably given by the child’s parents while she was away at camp. The robber stood still as be began to count what he had taken.

_Perfect._

Hanzo let the arrow fly.

It sliced through the air, snapping the purse right out of his hands. The robber flinched back as it escaped him, slipping on one of the contents he had thrown away and landing on his ass. His mouth gaped wide with surprise. Only now did he turn to catch sight of Hanzo, who was notching yet another arrow.

White began to decorate his dark clothing as he fumbled across the roof, trying to get on his feet. “Not one of you lot again!” Hanzo heard him cry, the robber’s eyes still on him as he hurried down the stairs.

_Again?_

Just as he was about to tilt his head questioningly, his answer scaled up the fire escape.

Hanzo caught sight of the mysterious figure just as he was about to draw the arrow back. He watched, wide-eyed, as the robber’s face collided with a fist, stumbling back a few steps before teetering entirely. He fell onto his back with a soft _thump_ , arms splayed out on the ground. Drool began to dribble down one side of his cheek.

One punch was all it took.

The archer watched the mysterious figure sidestep the unconscious body before him, whistling a sweet song as he sauntered to where the stolen goods lay.

Hanzo zoomed in on him for a closer look; tall in stature. Broad shouldered. Face too hidden by a blue scarf loosely around his neck to make out any sort of facial features and a black-brimmed hat on his head. At either side of him were gun holsters – the left one, along with his arm, obscured by a ridiculous cape of sorts.

He looked like a villain from an old western serial. At any moment, Hanzo expected him to knock his head back and let out a maniacal laugh as he too tried to steal a child’s possessions.

To his surprise, the mysterious man did none of those things. Instead, he sunk down onto a knee, neatly tidying the items back into the bag. Many of them were damp by the cold. However he handled them with much care, drying them as best he could with his scarf. Lastly he reached out to the purse only to pause upon noticing the arrow jutting out of it. Even his music stopped upon the sight of it. Picking it up he flipped it over in his gloved hand, inspecting what had pierced through the cheap leather.

Sensing that it was his time to leave, Hanzo began to sheath his bow away when a sharp whistle made him stop.

His attention snapped back to the roof. Now the mysterious man stood near the ledge like the robber had, this time staring directly at him.

“Gotta say, mister, you’re pretty handy with that bow,” the stranger said, holding the purse up as proof. His voice was low, gruff. Clearly an American, judging from the drawl.

Hanzo said nothing. Only glared at him from his vantage point. _Who was this man? Where did he come from? What were his intentions?_ Questions swirled in his head, tempting him to rise his bow up once more.

The American did not seem deterred. He continued to ramble on; “I’ve heard about ya in the papers. Call you the ‘ _King’s Assassin_ ’.. Gotta admit, has a mighty nice ring to it. Certainly much better than what they call me. Anyway, I beg yer pardon fer intruding. I know this is yer territory. But I wasn’t ‘bout ta let this jerk go.” He jabbed a thumb at the unconscious body behind him. “Stole from a lil’ kid on her way home from camp. I’m not a big enough monster to let that slide.”

Again, nothing. He didn't even move a muscle as he spoke. None of his blabbering helped him understand if this man was an enemy or a possible ally.

With a blink Hanzo's vision switched to a different mode. All around him, buildings became a dark orange, highlighting the America’s frame in yellow. The robber’s unconscious body glowed the same colour. There were no further heat signatures that he could pick up on. Not even a possible sniper from what he could read.

_He came alone._

“Not much of a talker, are ya?” He heard the American ask as he switched back to the normal setting. The world returned to being as grey and bland as it usually was. The American nodded his head. As if he understood. “Should’ve known. You give off a ‘lone wolf’ kind of vibe.”

There was a long pause. During it, Hanzo knitted his eyebrows together. Exactly what did this fool _want_? He was certain that they had never met and yet… here he was, talking like they were decades old comrades.

The American stood there, biting his cheek. Probably wondering what to say next. Then, as if remembering, he held the purse up again to point to the arrow. “Do ya want this back? Looks pretty expensive if you ask me.”

Indeed it was. They were all his own design – specially handcrafted to enable three different modes; normal, scatter, and sonic. Each one took days to make so he'd always try and waste as little of them as possible. When he finished a job he'd collect as many as he could.

Part of him knew it would be wiser to leave it. However, he wasn't going to run the risk of the American stealing his technology – and potentially using it against him in the future.

Hanzo looked at the cable that stretched between them. It was exactly like all the others around King’s Row; thick enough for him to use as a tightrope of sorts. Nevertheless, he still tapped a foot onto it. After testing his weight he carefully stepped on, arms outstretched beside him as he began to walk.

Over time it had become easy to ignore the height that was beneath him. To drown out the sounds of traffic and people and various other distractions. He grew used to how the cable would gently sway with each step. He had to constantly roll the balls of his feet to keep balance – always changing and adjusting. When he first began patrolling King’s Row he thought his heart would beat out of his chest. Now, it was nothing more than child’s play.

The American stood watching him in silence. Every single muscle in his body was tense as the archer crossed over. Admittedly, Hanzo was tempted to dip a foot out to see his reaction. Surely it would have been amusing, at the least. However, he decided he wasn’t _that_ cruel.

As brazen and as agile as a cat, he scurried along the cable until he was safely on the ledge. With a grunt, he hopped off to land on the rooftop.

He straightened himself to face the American, who was slowly approaching him. Cautious. As he should be.

“Bit of a risky transportation system y’have there, don’t ya?” he said, tipping his hat to him. Was the gesture out of courtesy? Or was he trying to hide his face from him? Either way, it didn’t matter to Hanzo at that point. He no longer wished to be a part of whatever game the stranger was playing and would be more than happy to see him go.

The American lifted his left hand. It was then did the archer catch sight of a slight gleam of metal. A prosthetic, he thought, watching as the American effortlessly pulled out the arrow from the purse. His prosthesis was mostly a dark silvery shade with small glints of gold in the joints. A small, luminous blue disk by the palm.

He handed over the arrow. “I did mean that I could toss it to you, but I guess this works fine too.”

Hanzo hesitated. As futile as the action was, he tried to scan his face. Large white text appeared when he initiated the facial recognition system; **N E G A T I V E.   N O   M A T C H E S   F O U N D**.

His face was still too obscured by his scarf and, upon closer inspection, a black mask – only allowing gentle brown eyes and a crooked nose to peek through.

He was a head taller (much to Hanzo’s annoyance), elevated slightly by thickly soled boots. White powdered his shoulders and the brim of his hat. His breath was visible in the cold, curling around him like he was smoking a cigar. Underneath the cape wore a black leather vest over a white buttoned shirt. Just below that was a belt lined with odd looking cylinders much like the ones across his own. However these were much slimmer. Cases for spare bullets, maybe? Hanzo wasn’t sure.

Finally, he came to eye the handle of the weapon sitting on his right hip.

The American followed his gaze, patting the holster with a free hand. “Don’t you worry, partner. She ain’t fer the likes of you. It seems we have a mutual dislikin’ of assholes so I’m going to be friendly.”

Hanzo tilted his head to the side, squinting up at him. Despite his initial comparison, he didn’t seem malicious. He _did_ take out the robber, and so far he has given him no reason to distrust him. That didn’t mean he did. Trust him, that is.

Keeping himself on high alert, Hanzo eventually reached out to take back what was his. His fingers slid over the cold metal of his hand as he did, sending a shiver down his spine. Slowly, he slid it back into the quiver along with the rest, giving the American a curt nod of thanks.

The American stood there. Waiting. Then his shoulders began to jerk as he erupted into laughter. “Damn!” he chuckled. “Yer takin’ this silence thing to the extreme! Wasn’t even blessed with a thank you. Well, what does it take to get one outta you?”

Hanzo said nothing.

Not that he could even if he wanted to.

For a while he continued to laugh, becoming more strained and quieter by the second when Hanzo didn’t join in. It was only when realization dawned on him that he did he stop.

“ _Oh._ ”

Now it was the stranger’s turn to look at all the grey-and-white plating that crept from his stomach all along his torso and reached his neck. It wrapped itself around the archer like ivy; devouring his lower jaw, running past his ears, wrapping itself all down his entire left arm, devouring his legs and feet. Only his right shoulder and the top half of his face were untouched by cybernetics. Frost began to bite into his bare skin, and with every slight movement of his head he saw powdered snow escape from his hair.

The American opened his mouth to say more, however Hanzo was already beginning to turn on his heels. He glanced over at the clock tower. A few more minutes and it would chime with the sound of a new day. No longer did he wish to be gawked at like an animal in a zoo – all he wanted to do was retire for the night.

 _Hopefully this would be the last time we’ll meet_ , he thought as he jumped back onto the ledge.

Just as he was about to take a step onto the cable and walk back over, he heard the American shuffle forward.

“Hold on there!” he heard him say, causing Hanzo to look back one more time. He froze upon his glare, then tipped his hat forward yet again. This time in an apology. “Listen, I didn’t mean to insult ya. Thought you were just being a brood. If I had known, I woulda kept my mouth shut.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. Knowing it was a long-shot that the stranger would understand him, he still balled his hand to a circle, then quickly twisted his hand to make a “k” letter with his index and middle fingers.

The American raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fancy way of telling me to fuck off?”

Initially taken aback, Hanzo shook his head.

“You gonna tell me?”

He shook his head again. He wasn't even sure how he'd be able to communicate with him if he didn't know sign, but that didn’t stop the American’s eyes lighting up with a smile.

“Ah. Well. I'll make sure to get it out of ya next time. Along with that thank you you owe me.”

Hanzo paused for a second. _This man is unbelievably stubborn._ Nevertheless, he found himself bowing his head to him. A feeling of dread was still hanging over him -- surely this man was up to something? He couldn't grasp what, but he certainly was falling into some scheme. But for now, with no proof of his intentions, all he could do was thank him for making the night… _interesting_ , at the very least.

With that, the American began to slink away, casually tossing the bag over his shoulder. He continued his song from earlier as he stooped down to the unconscious robber to scoop him up.

Before he could look back, Hanzo was already gone.

 

xXx

 

Soundlessly the archer slipped through the open window, pulling the pane down carefully with a _click_ behind him

He rested his palms on the wooden sill for a moment, staring through his reflection and back out at the snow outside. One by one, lights from the buildings around him were beginning to be switched off as time rolled on.

For a second his eyes focused on his reflection, seeing his skin above his mask was red from the cold. Dark circles danced around his eyes. He let out a long, tired sigh, tearing his eyes away from the widow. He turned to his dark apartment.

_Another day done._

Straightening his back he lifted his arms over his head, feeling his skin stretch against metal. Once again his shoulders popped from building pressure in the joints, as did his knees. With a free hand, he whipped away the steam as he made his way to the couch in the centre of the room.

Hanzo leaned on the arm of the couch and grabbed onto an orange cable that ran from the wall. He reached behind him, feeling for the socket. As soon as he felt the ridges at the nape of his neck he plugged it in. He didn’t fully realise just how low he was until his sight became a shade lighter than it had been.

_I shouldn’t have wasted so much time with the American. I should be more careful next time._

_Next time._

He shook his head of the thought.

_No. There will be no ‘next time’. This will not be repeated. Ever._

With a satisfied sigh he loosened his ponytail down, allowing his hair to fall to his shoulders. It was still wet from the snow. He flicked the hair-tie on the desk before him. It landed on top of the folder he had left open.

For a few moments he sat back, looking at all the work before him. He allowed his eyes to close while he knocked his head back.

The skin along his bare shoulder still stung, causing him to wince. He knew it would only get worse without treatment, but at this stage he was past caring. He'd deal with it later.

His mind replayed the incident with the mysterious man – he still had no idea who he was, where he came from, or what his motives were. It was unsettling to know that he was out there, traversing the streets with a bag in his hands and the robber thrown over his shoulder. Whistling still as he made his way back to… wherever he spent his time. Knowing that at some point in time he was on a newspaper, and the mysterious man had read it.

Throughout his time living in King’s Row, Hanzo had made sure not to attract attention. He never left the front door of his apartment, instead favouring the fire escape by his window. He didn’t need to eat, so shopping was never an issue. He handled all of his bills online. Whenever he went out, he disposed of criminals discreetly (or so he thought). Made sure not a single soul could track him by sticking to the rooftops as he travelled. You’d be amazed at how little people looked up at the sky. To his neighbours on either side of him, Hanzo was nothing more than a ghost; a phantom they would hear time to time in the middle night.

That’s what Hanzo preferred. To be _alone_.

And yet… he couldn’t let go of this feeling in the pit of his stomach. A certain emptiness that was never there before. Or, at least, one he never _noticed_ before.

Above his head, he could hear feet stomp against wood, raised voices cutting through the thin walls. He could faintly hear the laughter of children, the creek of pipes rumbling. Every so often a siren or the honk of a horn would blare outside. His cybernetics amplified every sense around him – most days he could handle it, training his mind to ignore the constant information pouring in. But other days made him want to rip them out altogether.

No matter where he was, he could never find peace.

His eyes flickered open. They slid to the desk, taking a quick glance at the time on the radio. It sat snugly between a pile of papers and his small reading lamp. _You’ll get nowhere if you continue to sit here and wallow in self-pity._

He leaned forward and flicked the lamp on, illuminating the folder that was open in front of him. He then began to turn one of the dials on the radio.

It took a while to find a station that wasn't playing carols. Settling on a gentle sounding piano piece, he flicked to the next page. The music would be his only friend throughout the festive night, as his neighbours beside, above, and below him were no doubt huddled together with their loved ones.

Time marched silently forward as the archer read.

It would be another Christmas spent alone in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge shout out to Cade, aka Cawaiiey, who constantly helped me out while writing this so that I could achieve my potential. She gave me amazing advice and pointers that steered me in the right direction. God bless you! You're a real trooper! Also a huge shout out to the Bullseye/Treehouse channel altogether who've been supporting me in amazing ways. It's an honour working with you all.
> 
> I was super excited to start writing this! I had a great idea for this day but then it became too big for a one-shot, so from here on out its going to be a multi-chapter. It's going to be tricky to balance this with "Better Date" and commissions but I'm determined to do it.
> 
> As per usual never be afraid to drop a comment or visit me over on my Tumblr; http://thetallirishflower.tumblr.com/ . Every comment or support really helps me out, no matter how small.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks after meeting the mysterious archer, Jesse enjoys a boring day at the office before he and the gang are called out into action. This time to save the city from something more fiendish than a thief...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol pretend like this isn't late.

There was nothing more satisfying to the soul than being a journalist on a busy Friday morning. The office would be alive once you'd step through those elevator doors – the air fuelled by electricity as a chorus of typing keyboards, ringing phones, and people calling out headline pitches blessing your ears. A symphony made by the gods. Then, there were the slow days. When news was scarce, time moved as fast as a snail, the most you'd hear would be a distant cough, and with each passing hour a part of your spirit died.

Unfortunately for the _Overwatch_ team, it had been a ‘slow day’ for almost two months.

Jesse McCree sat in his small cubical, hands pressed against his coarse cheeks so that his head wouldn’t fall onto his keyboard. He stared blankly at the computer screen before him, his clouded mind not even sure what he was doing in the first place. With every blink his eyelids grew heavier, losing a battle between being awake and asleep.

The night before he had spent traversing along the city, doing his patrols. Lena was off in Wales visiting family, which left McCree to cover their route all on his own. Their extremely long, _long_ , route. He typically began at nine and wouldn't be home until five in the morning. True, it was only for two weeks, but it was it was certainly taking a toll on him; he was utterly exhausted, only roughly getting an hour long nap in before he had to hightail it into work.

The combination of lacklustre sleep and boredom was making his consciousness ebb. Slowly but surely, his mind began to freefall, eyes finally closing slightly as he sat hunched forward at his desk. Just as his mind began to slip into the warm darkness of a dreamless snooze, the ringing of a phone kicked him back out.

Jesse, without hesitation, reached out to the office phone beside his computer. Not even bothering to look at the name on the dash, he placed the headset against his ear.

“Jesse McCree here, what can I do for ya?” he blurted instinctively into the mouthpiece, blinking furiously as his head tried to catch up with his body. His words nothing more than an incomprehensible stream – crashing together one-by-one.

There was an airy chuckle. “Have I caught you at a bad time, love?” Lena asked, her voice as cheery as always.

_Oh, what a beautiful sound_ , he thought, closing his eyes and blessing every lord that popped into his tired, tired mind. “Please tell me yer home,” he said in almost a cracked whisper.

Her chuckle became noticeably more strained. “I… uh… take it things weren't going well?”

“I feel like I’m hungover but without the fun memories that come with drinkin’,” he said, leaning against the back of his chair. His prosthetic hand went to pinch the bridge of his nose, wincing. “Doin’ the patrols on my own took forever. I’m tuckered out after it. Woke up this morning and spent twenty minutes trying to put my left shoe on my right foot. Then I started crying when I realized what I was doing.”

“You… cried over a shoe.”

“Yeah. I cried when I forgot to push down the toaster, too. And again when I dropped my coat.”

“How many times have you cried today?”

Jesse paused for a while, counting the incidents in his head, and when he realised that it was quite the worrying number he let go of his nose and began rubbing the back of his neck. “Jus’ – yeah, jus’ those two times,” he stammered.

“You named three—”

“ _Anyway_ ,” he sang, drawing the word out. “How's the family up north? Everythin’ good?”

She snorted. “Don't change the subject. You're obviously wrecked. Don’t suppose you could be a bit cheeky and get off early before you collapse?”

Jesse shook his head. “Nah. _‘Don't let your yearnings get ahead of your earnings,’_ and all that. Besides, if I leave, Reyes would be stuck with Morrison all on his own and I don’ wanna miss a fight if one breaks out.”

“Is he still pissed about the promotion?”

“Hold on, lemme double check.”

Jesse hesitantly turned his chair behind him. Just a few feet away sat Reyes’s office – and there the man of the hour was. He was pacing, one had buried in his suit pocket while the other gestured as he spoke. He, too, had a phone pressed between a shoulder and his scarred face.

As soon as their eyes met through the glass door that separated them both, Gabriel set the phone down and fumbled for something on his desk. As soon as he found whatever he was looking for, Gabriel pushed himself forward to the door, holding up a single piece of paper.

_I’M GOING TO KILL HIM_ , it said, written in sharp capital letters. Beneath it was a charming doodle of what he presumed to be Gabriel throwing some sort of cup at a cartoon version of Jack Morrison, colliding into his face with a squiggly circle showing the impact it had. Just below that was an arrow pointing to the left.

His eyes followed the arrow, shifting to look at who other than the golden boy himself. Unlike Reyes, Morrison sat behind his desk with his hands clasped in front of him, smiling as he talked to their new photographer who sat opposite to him. Emily, he believed her name was? Didn’t really matter, because Jesse caught sight of a large white mug sitting on the mahogany, proudly proclaiming _#1 Boss_.

For a second Jesse couldn’t believe his eyes. _Nah. He couldn’t be that much of a beef-head._

And yet there it was, carefully placed so that Reyes could have a perfect view of it from his own office. He looked between the mug and Reyes – who was now against the glass, an evil grin playing on his lips as he glared across the room.

“I think he is, yeah,” Jesse said, swivelling his chair back to his computer.

He heard a long sigh. “Listen, you have to get some sleep. I'm really sorry Jesse, but Fareeha texted me just a few minutes ago. It's why I called – I need you on the job with me. She said something fishy is going on in the Underworld.”

At that McCree found himself frowning.

His attentions were drawn to the walls enclosing him from the rest of the room. Clippings and headings decorated the wooden surface; omnic rights protests, the Null Sector attacks that went on for days, grand theft and riots turned deadly. Things of the past once people like himself and Lena started helping out. Since vigilantes began popping up all over London, the omnic tensions had simmered down almost completely. It had been months since he and Lena had anything to do with the Underworld.

“What the hell is goin’ on down there?” he asked, shifting in his seat.

“Don’t know just yet. She was really professional, so I'm guessing it's something serious. We’re meeting her in the usual place at eight to get the scoop.”

One last time, he looked over his shoulder. Reyes was still staring at him, holding up the sign. It was a miracle that no one else seemed to notice him.

He mouthed, “help me, Jesse.”

Jesse instantly shook his head. “Ignore him,” he mouthed back.

Gabriel’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. With a huff, he put the sign down, crumpling it up before tossing it in the bin as he rounded his desk.

No matter what angle he came at it, deep down Jesse knew Gabe had every right to be angry. He had worked himself to exhaustion for the newspaper – poured every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears into the place. Everyone in the office knew it.

He made _Overwatch_ into what it was – helped build its foundations when he first moved to England. Then here came this new guy who swiped the title from right under his nose. Shit like that left a sour taste in his mouth.

But he also knew that carrying jealousy like a shroud wasn’t going to help him either.

He grumbled before going back to Lena; “Fine. I’ll ask if I can have a half-day. But let’s get this straight – if I miss Jack getting’ a beat down, I’ll never forgive you.”

There was another childish giggle from the young woman before they both hung up. Jesse set the handset back down onto the jack, letting out a long whistle as he looked back to the screen before him. His eyes scanned over the article he had spent hours trying to fluff up for the next morning's front page;

_Engineering Prodigy Wows Judges_ , his headline read. It went on to detail how a young girl named Efi Oladele won the hearts of judges at a massive science fair in the heart of London. Just beside the article was a photo of her in front of her parents. Even he had to admit that she was as cute as a button; she was nothing but thin limbs, with a green apron over her clothes and a yellow bandana pushing back her braided hair. Her smile – so big and so bright her eyes were closed – deserved its own award.

He had tagged along with Ana for the interview, jotting down notes as the two conversed. They learned that she had come all the way from Africa to participate – “It was my first time flying!” she had proclaimed to them – and completely swept the floor with everyone there with her ingenuity in artificial intelligence. At eleven years old Efi proved herself to be gifted with building technology, and already had a pretty impressive resumé.

As she went on about the systems of learning programed into omnics and explaining ways to improve upon it, all he could think was; _When I was her age I was picking my nose and believing in Santa._

The kid was going places. Big ones. Didn’t take a genius to see it.

It was a nice change from the horrors that usually plagued the first page on the _Overwatch_ newspaper. Though it meant a dull work day, he was grateful to see that some peace and quiet had come to the city.

It made him feel like he and Lena were making a difference going out every night, no matter how small or large.

The Efi Oladele story was the only one he had gotten so far from his superiors.

Within a few clicks it was sent to them both for proofreading. From his brief glances, Gabriel was back to talking on the phone. Jesse knew if he interrupted and asked to get off early he'd be shot on the spot. Didn't matter if the man had raised him like his own blood – Reyes wouldn't have any mercy.

Ana was still off in Kilburn prepping for the ten year anniversary of the Malachite Hotel fire. She wanted to get exclusives with the families that survived – maybe some stories on the ones that didn’t. It was going to be her last hurrah before she went into retirement. (Or so she claimed. Jesse doubted that it would be the end of her career.)

That left Jack… well, he’d rather gouge his own eyes out than ask Morrison for anything, so he supposed he had time to kill while waiting for Reyes to finish.

He stared at the screen once more, the time ticking by until an idea hit him.

_Now hold on a minute._

As he opened a new tab, Jesse looked around the office. No one was looking at him – all too involved with their own work. Emily was just coming out of her meeting with Morrison, a wide smile on her face as she walked across the room. In her hand was a brown envelope – more than likely with examples of her work within – and she clutched to it tightly to her chest while going through the door down to the elevator. Kimiko, Mirembe and Lindholm were chatting by the water fountain.

Jeff was typing like a man possessed in the cubicle beside his, totally engaged in whatever Ana had given him before she left for the day. On the other side was Wilhelm, who seemed to be falling asleep at his station as well.

_I feel ya, buddy,_ he thought, sliding back into his desk.

For a few seconds his hands hovered the keyboard, his finger itching to start searching but his mind forcing himself to stop. _Why am I even doing this for? I’ve read everything already. I’m not going to find anything new._

Nevertheless he began to type into the search bar; _King’s Assassin, King’s Row._

Only a handful of articles and message boards came up detailing the archer’s antics. He was treated more like a lost myth than a tangible being.

He clicked on the first news link. It brought him to the _Atlas News_ website. Written two years ago by none other than Olympia Shaw’s wife, Cynthia Shaw. Beneath her name and title – _A Shadow Strikes!; Does King’s Row Have Another Protector?_ – showed a photo of three men in black tied together on the floor of a cell. Bruises decorated all of their faces, blood pouring from their nostrils.

It was one of the more well-known incidents involving the archer – and the only one that had solid proof that he was real. Somehow in the dead of night he had snuck into the police station and dumped the trio of jewel thieves within. They were discovered that morning, rambling on about an archer finding them and promptly kicking their asses. Had the men in black scratching their heads for weeks afterwards. No one had any idea how he got in and out without any of the alarms going off.

To McCree’s surprise, there wasn’t a lot of crazy conspiracy theories surrounding him. There were hundreds alone on Lena’s blink and recall abilities – hell, even Jesse himself had more, and his only power was having a metal arm and being able to shoot a gun. (Most of them were actually all hilarious and he found himself many a drunken time searching them up to read them.)

You’d think a _robot ninja in London_ would gain a lot more attraction than he did.

Not even the internet could take a guess at who the allusive man could be, where he came from, or when he first appeared.

The three witnesses gave an account of what he looked like to an artist. The sketch he made was near the end of the report.

On closer inspection, Jesse saw a good likeness. Short in stature, but pretty muscular around the shoulders. Slender legs. Plating wrapped around his chest, encompassing both arms this time. Long inky hair that was tied into a ponytail, a strand stubbornly jutting out at the front. His face wasn’t as well captured – the mask was up much higher than it was in real life, jaw wasn’t as well defined or covered in the same plating as his chest. His neck was clear, too. Cheekbones not as pronounced as they should be. He looked much younger in the sketch – softer, too.

But boy did they get his eyes right.

His mind wandered back to that Christmas night when the two of them stood opposite one another – the archer as still and as quiet as a statue as the snow drifted down on top of them.

Before that night, Jesse believed the archer was long gone. When the incident with the jewel thieves broke out, he and Lena had searched high and low for him – for the man the public dubbed the _King’s Assassin_ due to his getup. Nothing else seemed to noticeably happen around King’s Row. From time to time, someone would come up with an ill-defined photo, but for the most part he became nothing more than a folk’s tale.

And yet, there he was before Jesse. Cold, dark eyes staring at him as if judging his very soul.

That basilisk stare had haunted him ever since.

McCree had visited their meeting place almost every night in the blind hope that the archer would be there. That he’d be able to see him one more time.

In truth, Jesse didn’t understand why he wanted to see him again. He just… did. Something deep in his gut told him he wouldn’t be satisfied otherwise. Maybe it was innate curiosity. Or maybe it was the fact that there was, indeed, _a fucking robot ninja in London._

In the end his motivations didn't matter. All that mattered was the certainty he had.

Jesse read over a few more sightings – none of which were as detailed as the jewel thieves. One lady said that the King’s Assassin helped her when she was getting mugged in a shady alleyway. A corner shop cashier was held at gunpoint during a robbery, and if it weren’t for the archer’s help he claimed that he would have been a goner for sure. In both cases the perpetrators were scarred off instead of being taken into custody.

As disperse and seemingly random all of the sightings were, they did have a noticeable pattern. All of them were pickpockets or some form of shoplifters. _He has a type,_ Jesse thought, scrolling down the pages.

After a half an hour of browsing, out of the corner of his eye Jesse caught sight of Gabriel finally stepping out of his office. His hands were gliding across his shaven head as he walked, only stopping when Jesse closed down all of his tabs and rolled his chair out in front of him.

“Hey, pop,” he said, knocking his head to the side and fluttering his lashes, giving him the biggest smile he could. “Y’know how I’m your favourite adopted son?”

Gabriel glared down at him, lowering his hand. “You’re my only adopted son.”

“See? That’s how I know I’m your favourite.”

At that Reyes made a scoffing sound, rounding McCree’s chair. “Whatever you want, the answer is no,” he grumbled, following Emily’s path from earlier. He cut across the room, walking to the double glass doors leading to the elevator.

Jesse set his lips in a firm line as he leaped out of his chair, pushing it in with his foot as he raced to catch up with Reyes. People seemed to pause for a moment, their sights following them as they moved. “Aw, come on,” he pleaded, striding along behind him. “Why?”

The man didn’t move his head – just kept ploughing forward like a shark. “You won’t help me kill Morrison.”

“I ain’t gonna help you kill Morrison cause I don’t think it’s an appropriate way of expressin’ your feelings. Besides, I’m pretty sure assassination’s against company policy.”

“You used to be fun.”

The gaggle by the fountain – Kimiko, Mirembe and Lindholm – froze, their conversation ending suddenly as they passed. Praying that Reyes wouldn’t notice him.

He didn’t, much to their visible relief. The two ladies let out a sigh while Torb wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Jesse still nudged his head sharply towards the cubicles – a silent command. _Get back to work before he sees ya._

They got the message, scampering back to wherever they usually sat.

Following Reyes, he was lead past the glass doors and down the brightly lit hall. Just a few feet away, someone was coming out of the elevator, holding a bunch of parcels in their arms. They quickened their paces, Gabriel stopping the doors from sliding shut with a push of his hand. It glided back open with a soft _ping_.

“Y’know what’s fun?” Jesse asked as they both stepped inside together. The elevator was just as fancy as the rest of the building; cool metallic white walls, a harmless brown carpet, a silver handrail for them to lean on. “Bowling. Beer. Walks on the beach. You know, shit that ain’t rebellion.”

Reyes slid him a look – eyebrows raised, mouth in a pout – then simply shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say? I crave revenge,” he said, leaning forward to press the ground floor button.

When the doors were shut, Jesse felt the elevator jolt to life, beginning it’s descent down. He took a few steps back, resting his hands on the handrail behind him. “Don’t say that,” he said. “You’re too much of a softie to kill anyone.”

At that, Reyes hummed. He, too, sidled beside Jesse, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s been winking at me all day. Every few minutes he does it – makes it look like he’s having a stroke. It’s starting to freak me out.”

“Maybe he’s flirtin’ at ya.”

That made Reyes grimace. “I’d prefer if he was having a stroke.”

Jesse couldn’t help but smirk, nudging his side with his elbow. “I’m only pullin’ your leg. Like I told ya before, just ignore him and he’ll piss off.”

“I _can’t_ ignore him. My entire office is fucking see through. I have no choice but to look at his smug mug.” After a second’s pause, he added, “And his _actual_ mug.”

“He’s tryin’ to get a rise outta you, y’know.”

“Well, it’s working.”

The elevator came to a jolting halt, causing McCree to sway on his feet. The doors slithered open, and the sight of a blue hallway greeted them. Lines of office doors were on either side of the walls. The bottom floor was normally where the photographers were – a nice, quiet place no matter what day it was.

As Reye’s went to step out, Jesse placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

“Listen,” he said, forcing Reyes to face him. "Ain’t nothin’ we can do about the promotion. What’s done is done. But what we can do is keep doin’ our jobs as best we can. Just like we always have. And hope next time gets a little better.”

It wasn’t the strongest set of words he ever strung together, but it was all that Jesse’s poor, sleep-deprived mind could muster.

Reyes shifted his weight onto one leg, arms still crossed. “What do you want, McCree?” he asked, voice low. He was giving off every possible signal that he was having a rough day, and was starting to become desperate for some good news.

It pained Jesse’s heart that he wasn’t about to give him any.

“I gotta cash in that half day you owe me,” he said, watching Reyes roll his eyes in what could only be described as defeat. “I haven’t slept all week. It’s catchin’ up with me. I don’t even know what I’m writing anymore.”

For a moment he stood there, letting out a long breath before shaking his head. “I should have known. I read the article you sent – you spelled the name Oladele in five different ways within two paragraphs. It was uncharacteristically sloppy for you.”

The comment made Jesse wince, but took it without any protests.

Eventually Gabriel turned on his heels. “Get going,” he grumbled as he went. “You can have your half-day. But that means you come in tomorrow prepared to work overtime. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

Jesse nodded, jamming a thumb in the control pad. “Won’t let you down, sir,” he said, bringing his prosthetic up in a salute.

He watched Gabriel wordlessly stalk down the hall as the doors in front slammed shut, not bothering to wave back.

 

xXx

 

Even after years of travel with Lena, Jesse could never get used to walking through the abandoned tunnel. The young woman – dressed head-to-toe in her Tracer gear – forward in a sapphire blur while he plodded his way behind her. As he made his way through the darkness, shivers would race down his spine when the place began to rumble.

A train above his head passed over the long forgotten subway – bits of dust and dirt trickled down from the ceiling and fall onto his hat. The stench of oil made Jesse want to cover his nose with his scarf. A prickling sensation continuously ran across his skin until the train was gone. Once more the tunnel was silent save the hum of Lena’s chronal accelerator and the sound of his shoes hitting the gravel. His eyes were trained to the ground, taking careful steps as to not trip over himself like he always managed to do while walking to their rendezvous point.

No matter how many times he assured himself that he was safe – that the tacks hadn’t been used in years and the place was completely empty – every instinct in his body told him to _run_.

“C’mon, slowpoke! Let’s get moving!” he heard Lena call, her voice bouncing off of the stone wall around them. He glanced up to see her slim frame silhouetted before a pool of light ahead of him. The blue hue from her chronal accelerator illuminated the ventilation mask covering her mouth and jaw. She zipped away from his view, her form becoming a pale while as she darted off.

With a few more feet to go, Jesse trudged on. Tiredness still clung to his body like an old coat; it made his muscles more susceptible to the cold, made every small movement a chore. Even his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He managed to grab a long nap before he came, but that only made things worse in his opinion.

_I really hope this isn’t too serious_ , Jesse thought, ears pricking up at the sound of muffled voices.

He let out a small sigh as he held up a hand to shade his eyes as he neared the platform.

For a moment he was blinded by the fluorescent lights as he finally left the gloom, his vision going entirely white. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, taking in the sight before him.

The platform was just as dilapidated as the tunnel he had gone through. The concrete floor was littered with coke cans, papers, posters, and old protest signs. The tiled walls, which were once a brilliant white, were a faded grey. Many tiles were missing, lying crushed and broken on the floor. Taking up a large portion of one of the walls were words written in red graffiti, declaring omnics to be menaces to society. It was the usual jargon; _Blood Not Circuits, Meant to Serve, Stay Down Where You Belong_.

Along the platform were yellow chairs, rust clinging onto the seats like some sort of mould.

A group of people – Lena included – surrounded a familiar figure who sat in one of these chairs. Decked out in her uniform was non-other than Fareeha Amari herself. Her Raptora suit was no more; a black vest now wrapped itself around her torso in its stead, decorated with various pouches. Her hat was on her lap, fingers toying with the brim of it. A radio sat snugly on her shoulder on the vest’s strap, letting out a gargled noise every so often as officers spoke to one another. Jesse noted that she, like himself, wore a holster around her belt.

Unsurprisingly Satya was by standing side, a hand settling on Fareeha’s shoulder as she beamed across at Lena. Like always she held her head high – bold and regal just like her beloved. Her eyes were hidden behind her white helmet, the golden embodiments along her gown shimmering underneath the harsh lighting. Her blue veil swayed slightly when the breeze would catch it.

Even he had to admit that Vaswani was the embodiment of elegance in her Oasis uniform.

Jesse’s eyes landed on the hulking figure that stood beside Lena, his back to McCeee.

The man – a stranger he didn’t recognize – was easily the tallest out of everyone. Hell, he was probably even taller than Gabriel from what McCree could see. He was built like a mountain; laced with nothing but muscle and pure power beneath his attire. He wore a long, brown robe beneath a pair of white pants, cutting off at his knees. He could make out some sort of armour swathed around his calves, clicking on the floor as he leaned from one foot to the other.

Lena raised her hand to her brow, saluting the man. “It’s nice to be back, sir!” she chirped. “Felt awful not knowing what was going on at home.”

That earned her a short laugh. His voice was low, commanding. It made him want to stand up straighter. “You were lucky to not have missed anything,” he said, an accent clinging with every word. “I could only imagine—”

As he spoke, Fareeha caught sight of McCree. As soon as she had looked away, the stranger stopped, turning around to follow her gaze. All eyes were now on the gunslinger.

Stripes of white paint ran across the man’s crooked nose. He was as bald as an egg. His large arms were crossed over his broad chest as he smiled down at Jesse. Just like himself, one of his arms was a prosthetic. Except, unlike McCree’s cheap steel, it was made almost entirely with a golden metal. A substance he couldn’t recognise. It was a lot  bulkier than his own, too, and it looked pretty heavy to carry around.

“You must be the Vigilante,” he boomed, causing the gunslinger to squirm internally at the stupid name.

While his other teammates were given interesting, unique names that would roll off the tongue – _Tracer, Oasis, Mark: Raptora, Ribbit_ – he was stuck with fucking _Vigilante_. He tried for years to change it to anything else, but since he was one of the first to start patrolling London, the name stuck.

And it never failed to embaress the heck out of him.

Jesse, out of habit, tipped his hat to the stranger. “Uh, yeah,” he stammered, unsure of what to do in that moment. He wasn’t sure if his discomfort was visible or not. He didn’t exactly like to be suddenly thrown into the spotlight.

The man took no heed of his unease. Instead he reached down and caught his prosthetic, lifting him onto the platform. McCree didn’t have a chance to react before he felt himself be thrust upwards like a fish caught on a line. Once on his feet the man pressed Jesse into his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“I’ve heard many a story about you and you’re young friends,” he carried on saying. “You have all helped this city become stronger than ever before through your endeavours. And for that I must personally commend you.”

If he held him any tighter, Jesse was connived he’s snap in half. “Okay,” he managed to croak out.

Fareeha, as if remembering her duties, shoved her hat back on her head and stood up. Carefully she brush Satya’s hands away before addressing them. She let out a weak cough to catch their attentions. “Please, Mr. Ogundimu,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Let go of Vigilante before you crush him.”

The stranger – Mr. Ogundimu, as she had called him – did just that. In a matter of seconds McCree was back on his own two feet. All along his ribcage ached as he breathed deeply, reaching out to Lena’s shoulder as support as he tried to get his bearings. He was too mentally and physically drained to handle complements or bone-crushing hugs. Lena kept him up straight by grabbing onto his cloak, keeping him from pitching to the side.

As soon as things settled, Fareeha nodded her head respectfully to Lena and McCeee. “Thank you for coming.”  

Jesse held up a gloved hand. “No need for formalities, Amari,” McCree breathed, bending down slightly to brush the knees of his pants. “Or ‘thanks you’s for that matter. Just tell us what needs done and we’ll get to it as soon as.”

At that her jaw tightened. Reaching into one of her pockets, she revealed a small silver pad. With a few taps of her fingers, a picture flashed up onto the screen. “This morning there was word of suspicious activity at the gates of the Bevis Marks Underground sector. Police got down there to discover this hidden in one of the nearby sheds.”

She held up the pad for all to see.

McCree knocked his hat back, eyes widening at the image that was afore him. It was a hover cart carrying a red cylinder machine of sorts, kept still with an assortment of brown straps along its body. A blue core was flashing in its centre, pulsing like a heartbeat. He could just make out a small clock on one of the bumpers – _11:00_ it read.

Satya hung in the background, mouth in a hard line. Even Mr. Ogundimu who, seconds before, had been a source of joy, now stood solemnly as the two of them leaned forward at the screen.

“Is— is that a _bomb_?” Lena exclaimed, looking up at Fareeha.

She nodded in reply.

“Christ,” Jesse couldn’t help but blurt out. “It’s huge.”

Satya stepped forward. “It was not the only one found,” she said, nodding to Fareeha. The police woman nodded back, sliding her finger across the screen. Another photo popped up, this time within the back of a van. “I found one at the _Atlas News_ the car-park. I noticed the vehicle on my way to work and didn’t recognise it so I went over.”

“That’s directly across Leadenhall…” Lena began.

“There’s more,” Fareeha said, showing more photos. “There was another discovered near London Wall, Paternoster Row, Queenhithe, Thames Street…” She carried to list off a few more locations – all of which were near major entrances to the Underworld. And all of them the exact same make.

The realization made McCree’s stomach churn. Whoever was behind this, their intentions were clear as crystal. This was no coincidence. This was a large coordinated attack in the hopes to kill thousands of lives beneath the city’s feet. And if the Underworld went, London might just buckle under its own weight.

It certainly woke Jesse up better than any coffee ever could.

“All of them are made from my company’s alloys,” announced Mr. Ogundimu. McCree glanced over to see that his brows were knitted together, a fist hovering over his lips. He went on to explain; “My family and I deal with prosthetic-technology. Our biggest factories are located here in England. A few nights ago one of them was raided – no prosthetics were taken, just large amounts of metals. We thought nothing of it at the time until…” He gestured vaguely to the pad.

“And all of them have a timer going off at the same time tonight,” Fareeha finished, switching the pad off and slipping it back into her pouch.

McCree’s mind flashed back to the clock he noticed on the first bomb. “Eleven o’clock.” As he said it he felt his heart quicken.

_Guess it’s pretty serious after all._

“We’re unaware of how many bombs there are across London as of right now – or even if there are anymore,” Fareeha continued to say. “All we know for certain is that King’s Row is a likely target due to its high omnic population density, and if there _is_ a bomb, we haven’t found it. Time is running out and we need more support. That’s where you two come in.”

“You want us to find it?” Lena asked, constantly shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she stood listening.

“No. We’ve already coordinated a search team to scour the area. Ribbit and Hana have already gone ahead with a disposal unit as we speak. Oasis and I will join them after the briefing.”

Lena knocked her head to the side. “They’re here too?”

Fareeha gave a curt nod. “They’ll be in contact with us if anything happens,” she said, inclining to her radio. Fareeha patted down her vest once more, searching for the right pocket. She found it, digging out a pair of black ear-pieces for them both. “While we search, you’ll be moving the omnics deeper underground if they can’t find the bomb on time and there’s an explosion near the sector.”

McCree reached out to her open palm and picked up one of the buds, fiddling with it before placing it in his ear. He frowned as he did. “Wouldn’t an upscale evacuation be better? It’d get people out of danger entirely. And like you said you don’t know how many bombs there are around London. We could be leadin’ them straight into danger.”

While Lena took an ear piece for herself, Fareeha let out a defeated sigh. It was then he noticed how her forehead creased – stress lines were already beginning to appear along her skin. “We’ve tried everything, but the law is the law. Omnics are still under a curfew, and therefore can’t leave the premises after it. Besides, even if we could bring them up, we’d run the risk of a riot breaking out if anti-omnics see them.”

McCree had to suppress his urge to roll his eyes. Typical; even when hundreds of lives on the line, people couldn’t put their differences aside for two seconds. He looked over to Mr. Ogundimu one last time. “Would ya mind me askin’ why are you here, sir?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. It wasn’t everyday someone tagged along with Fareeha on their rendezvous – at the most it would be maybe two other officers or Aleksandra. A businessman was a new addition.

That seemed to put the smirk back on his face. Mr. Ogundimu brought up his prosthetic up for them all to behold, lowering his other hand from his mouth. “I’m here to take back what was stolen from my family,” he said. Jesse’s surprise must have been printed all over his face, for the larger man knocked his head back to let out a laugh. “Don’t worry, cowboy,” he assured him when he was finished, patting his shoulder as he began to make is way up the stairs leading to up-ground. “I’ll be able to carry my own weight. I have been _practicing_.”

Before he left their view, he indicated to the steps before him. An invitation – _Would you like to join me?_ it said.

Jesse could help but catch Lena’s eye. They hadn't had a job this bad in a long while – there was a huge possibility that they could be leading people into more danger if the search team didn’t find the bomb on time. Or if there were even _more_ bombs littered all over the city.  While he did have a grain of respect over how confident Mr. Ogundimu seemed, he was a total stranger with no concept of how they operated.

Everything about it set McCree on edge. Nothing felt _right_ to him.

But they had gone through much worse in the past, and things managed to pull out in their favour. He just had to keep the positivity up.

The two of them shared a quick nod before turning back to the two women. “We’ll be as fast as we can,” Jesse said, begging to hesitantly follow Ogundimu’s trail. “But please don’t let the bomb get too close to us. I don’t wanna lose another limb.”

Was it an inappropriate time to joke? Yes it was. Nevertheless he saw Satya’s lips curl into an appreciative smile. “We will alert you if things come to that,” she said, her voice as calm as always. There was always something comforting over how Vaswani always seemed to keep her cool, even under pressure. She took everything with resounding grace – and this time was no exception.

Fareeha, on the other hand, still had her brow puckered with concern. A call on the radio made her pull away, dipping close to the speaker.

“Wish you luck, girls!” Lena said before shooting off past the gunslinger and Ogundimu.

Without another word the trio began to ascend the steps out of the tunnel. As he stepped onto the road and breathed in the bitterly cold winter air, all McCree could do was think; _this is going to be a long night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm exhausted in both body and soul trying to get this out. But yet again I'm really happy with how this turned out, so hopefully it's been worth it.
> 
> Big shout out to my friends Cade (Cawaiiey) and Edgehunter for American-izing McCree for me and generally being awesome for looking this over. :) You guys should check them out they're work is greeeeaaaaat. 
> 
> I'm sorry if I seemed a bit too excited in the comments for the first chapter. I've never been this dedicated to a fic before so I have a lot of enthusiasm. Don't be afraid to comment or visit me on my Tumblr; http://thetallirishflower.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this late? Yes. Is this unthinkably short? Also yes. And you all have a right to be annoyed given how long it’s been, BUT! I have some big news I would like to share that explains my inactivity. Until then, enjooooy…

As the day wore on, London continued its monotonous hum.

Various busses and hovercars raced down the endlessly busy roads. People flooded the streets, moving like a swarm of locusts as they made their way. Above their heads were various blimps circling, floating gently through awesome skyscrapers as their sides were alight with either ads or news coverage. Every hour the bells would chime; each bellowing cry distinct from one another, announcing the passage of time.

However, as the sun slide beneath the skyline, a blanket of fog began to cover the moon and all of its glittering stars. And as the vapour enveloped the giant structures that made up the city, the traffic of King’s Row ground to a noticeable halt.

The neon blue lights that ignited the night sky had all but disappeared under the cloud. Not even the eerie moonlight could escape the haze, leaving only street lamps to lead the way.

By the time the mist had descended from the heavens to London’s dilapidated neighbourhoods, blurring every single corner of the sprawling metropolis, it had become uncharacteristically quiet.

Below, the streets yawned in every direction, their paths obscured by a swirling white. A few weeks ago the crossroads would have been covered under a blanket of snow. Now it was nothing but the odd sheet of black ice between the cobbles and puddles of water. It was certainly a bleak juxtaposition from the winter wonderland that was once there.

On the crossroads stood two figures – both of whom donned the black-and-white uniforms of the police force. Bulletproof vests were strapped to their chests as they stood, their radios gurgling out commands and updates every few moments. They had been there for quite some time – since six o’clock, to be exact – their hands behind their backs as they stared out in front of them. Proud sentinels as they endured the bitter winds.

White blocks were lined before them, stopping anyone who desired to pass.

This included a young redhead in a dark hoodie who was gesturing behind them as she spoke.

“C’mon,” she cried, bringing up the camera that hung off of a strap around her neck.

One of the officers raised his palm out to her. "I'm sorry, but this street is off limits for all personnel," he explained, emphasising his next sentence with a harsh tone; “ _Especially_ paparazzi.”

This earned them an aggravated groan from the woman. “ _Fine_ .” The redhead threw her hands up in the air in a strop, turning on her heels and stalking away from them. “And I’m _not_ paparazzi,” she added under her breath before she left. As she walked she pulled her hoodie up, disappearing in the cloud of white, more than likely about to try to sneak her way into King's Row through another route, only to receive the same treatment.

The two officers shook their heads. No doubt thinking the same thing.

There was a detectable energy between them as they waited; fidgeting and constantly looking at either each other or their radios. Eager for news they had not yet received.

When a voice finally emanated through the speakers, the pair of them flinched. One of them fumbled, her fingers scratching in search of the radio’s buttons. “Say that again, sir?” she said, her mouth moving to her shoulder as she spoke.

A moment of static before a muffled voice replied to them; "...I repeat, still no sign of the bomb... over…"

The two police officers sucked in a breath of air. Clearly not the news they had hoped for.

“Are you sure Song and Ribbit haven’t found anything? Over?” the male asked, his tone rising to a sharp and worried squeak. A sound of desperation at this stage.

“… Negative. They haven’t found a thing. Oasis hasn’t found any traces either. Over.”

“How’s the evacuation going? Over.”

“… Slowly. The others are down in the Underworld moving omnics as we speak… over…”

After sharing a quick worried glance at one another, they went back to staring off down the street, unaware of anyone watching them.

Hanzo reached to his ear, turning the control back to normal volume. If they spoke up again, it would be too inaudible for him to make out from where he was.

The archer frowned at the new information before him. _Seems as though they have not made progress,_ he couldn’t help but think.

He had been listening to the officers for well over an hour. Curiosity had gotten the better of him as he spotted them on his usual route along the rooftops – he had noticed that despite it being a Friday night, the street was devoid of life save for the policemen and -women that choked certain sections, just like the ones below.

So he had taken a knee, his arm resting on his thigh as he turned his hearing dial, ensuring he’d catch news of what was happening. He sat hunched over the edge of the building, debating with his greatest opponent; himself.

 _I shouldn’t intervene,_ he thought, knowing damn well he’d end up intervening anyway. As he usually ended up doing in some form or another.

Back when he first began it was simple – do the job, ignore all distractions that you might come across . However over the years it had grown more… _challenging_ for the archer to forbear such situations.

 _A small diversion shall not impede my mission,_ he told himself, climbing onto his feet.

As he rose, so did the wind with him, causing loose strands of hair to escape from his ponytail. Hanzo flattened the top of his head with his palm, eyes drawn skyward.

A long, echoing hum cut through the silence. In the air, an ominous silhouette of a blimp drifted overhead. Its searchlight tried to penetrate through the cover, casting a glow around the vessel as it passed.

It only added to the menacing image; in the cover of grey smog, the blimp appeared like a submarine swimming gently through the ocean, illuminating the strange creatures that inhabited London’s underbelly.

_Always watching, always watching._

Hanzo didn’t move, watching as the blimp slipped away.

With one final glance at the police officers to ensure he hadn’t been spotted – there was no indication that he had, the officers were still staring straight in front of them like toy soldiers – the archer began his journey.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! The news! If you’ve been following me on Tumblr or AO3 for a while, then this isn’t really a shocker; I badly suffer from anxiety, stress disorders, and bouts of depression. It’s not fun. I always try to seem positive, but sometimes it really drags me down. And it decided to absolutely crush me during all of July. It got to a stage where I was having panic attacks over writing (or, more accurately, the lack of writing I was doing). I had gotten myself so paranoid that I would let you guys down because of how slow I am, how I wasn’t improving my skill. I was getting irrationally upset over how people could update every week with over 5k and have excellent content and I… just couldn’t ever do that, even with the freedom of summer. And knowing that once 6th year hits and I start Leaving Cert, I’ll have to abandon everything I love and study. I’m getting panicky just writing this dear lord XD 
> 
> But yeah. I was not in a good place. And I’m still not. Not fully, anyway. Because I’m happy to announce that I’ve begun therapy!!! Ayyye!!! I’ve been waiting since December to get these appointments, so I’m glad I finally have them and get the help I need. While every session is extremely emotional, making me feel drained and exhausted after them, I know that I am at least on the right track now to getting better. I know it'll be a long road. And I understand that with 6th year just around the corner it'll only get tougher. But I can't help but feel a bit more optimistic. And I feel like that's all that matters.
> 
> I hope you guys understand, and I hope this chapter – as long as it took to get here – was worth your patience, and that you enjoyed it. I made it my mission to put this out before Dublin Comic Con (I'm going as Genji it's going to be so much fuuuun). All of your enthusiasm and your comments make all of this worth it, and I’d hate to fail you guys. I'd like to thank Dee, Yo (AKA Swarm on AO3), and Dykeflower for helping me out. Cade is off on a little break but she was a huge support as she always is.
> 
> Most importantly, thanks for reading!!! :D
> 
> EDIT: Like an idiot I put the date as June and I had to reupload. I'm SO sorry to IAmJesse who commented like a champion as always.


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